Shemale Pics : Free shemale stories
Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell
Author’s Note: I’m sorta getting into this transgender thing, largely because an online friend of mine named Gabrielle is undergoing sexual reassignment (M2F) and I like her a lot and it’s sort of amazing the things that people have to go through just to be comfortable with themselves. I mean life is hard enough as a girl, or as I guy I suppose, without feeling like you’re the wrong person physically. So anyway check it out.
Upon hanging the new portrait the ladies stepped back and gazed raptly at their images. The portrait–well, you couldn’t really call it that, “portrait,” for it had none of the usual formality of such pictures–call it a painting instead–showed them naked in the same stately, high-ceilinged drawing room they were standing in now. In the painting Mrs. Argentina sat at one end of the couch, generous lips parted in an affectionate grin. Mrs. Chard reclined, one slender leg trailing down to the floor, head on the other woman’s lap, looking up at her………
MRS. CHARD AND MRS. ARGENTINA got along famously from the first time they met. Both ladies were divorced; both bitter about their former husbands; both in their early thirties; both with thirteen-year-old sons. They had each inherited more than enough riches to remain idle and indulge themselves in their discontent.
They were tall, elegant women. Mrs. Chard was blonde, so blonde her hair was almost white. Her startling blue eyes were set in a fine-boned face that was only just beginning to show the passing of thirty-two years. A slender and small- bosomed figure gave her an appearance of fragility…..
Wendy did her best to be cool, to drive with at least a semblance of composure, but it wasn’t easy. She found herself gripping the wheel in high delight; her stomach kept lifting in excitement. The corners of her lips twitched irrepressibly. In a few hours she’d have her husband Bob just where she wanted him. Mouse-trapped. He’d be hers forever…..
I was woken by the doorbell at 6:30 a.m. on that Sunday in November 1997 which changed my life completely. I was in my senior year in college then, majored in business and expected to graduate in summer. I lived on my own in a small apartment. At the door was my 19 years old sister, Rebecca, and she was very nervous…..
Maxwell Smart, dressed in a light blue, cotton terrycloth bathrobe, read the Sunday Arts Section of the Washington Post while propped up in his comfortable armchair. The phone rang, disturbing his idyllic morning.The slight, gray-haired secret agent got up and walked over to a table, a few steps closer to the entrance of his two-story loft apartment…….
Bob still didn’t know how he felt about it, or even how he was supposed to feel. At first he’d said “No!” abruptly, without
thinking, and she’d called it a typically mindless male response, which of course is what it was. She said she’d hoped for better
than that from him, especially given the way he claimed he felt about her. This was something she wanted him to do, she really
did, never mind why. It was for her! And he’d refused……
The lines of uniformed bodies stood patiently in sunlight brightly magnified by reflections from the acres of concrete ramp. They had little choice, orders were orders. Private Sanford “Sandy” Beech, a
nineteen year old recruit in the infantry regiment, swayed a little in his position near one end of the second rank, almost nodding off despite the sweltering heat and the constant irritation of sweat dripping into
his eyes and trickling down his back……
We have been married for several years and we both were experiencing very active professional lives. Our jobs are quite demanding, requiring us to work long hours and consuming most of our creative energy. This daily grind had the same effect on us as most other couples in the 90s. Our love life was shrinking down to one or two times on weekends without a great deal of inspiration. We both longed for our early days of our relationship when sex was very regular and was our first choice in recreation activity……
There at the door was Pearl, my wife’s best friend, looking at me as I figured she would when she saw me, amused but also contemptuous. She stepped back and gave me that same relentless look of appraisal women
use on themselves when they look into mirrors. Then she said, “Not bad! Not too bad! But how in the world did she get you to do it?”…..
I made my first really intimate girlfriend just before my last year in High School, the summer I was nearly seventeen. Strictly
speaking, his mother had already shaped him out, but I put on the finishing touches, so I guess you can say we both made him my girlfriend. When I finished with him he loved what I’d done, and we’ve been good friends ever since, though since we went away to different colleges we’ve hardly seen each other, only when I’m home on vacation and he is too. He’s still a girl and will be for life, but with a difference. But I’m getting ahead of myself…..
I had been moved out of my mother’s house for two weeks now, and I still couldn’t believe it. I had made it! I was Dale
Simmons, college man! No more high school, no more curfew, no more cleaning my room or Saturday detentions… it was like I was living in a dream world…..
“I am NOT being unreasonable,” I insisted to my irate wife. “Millions of women do anything I’ve ever asked you to do, wear
anything I’ve ever asked you to wear.”"Millions of women are STUPID,” she declared loudly, unconvinced……
As I watched from across the street, my mother’s car pulled out of the driveway that fateful Monday one year ago, I was
filled with mixed emotions. First I was glad that I was going to be, more or less, on my own. I was 17 and figured that I could
take care of myself. Second, the person that had been chargedwith keeping an eye on me was my ‘Aunt’ Monica. She had lived
with my mother and me ever since my Mom had divorced my Father ten years ago…….
My training as a she-male servant began when I rang the doorbell of my lady’s home. She greeted me wearing along, tight fitting red leather gown, which covered her from neck to foot except that it exposed her prominent and luscious breasts; her long auburn hair flowed over her shoulders. She was also wearing 6″ spike heels and black stockings. The dress had a slit from her thigh to her ankles, which showed off her stocking clad legs when she walked……
We rolled over so that Sally was on top, her knees clutchingat my sides. She reared back as I continued to move my hips
rhythmically. Her long blonde hair cascaded down her back as she looked up at the ceiling before falling forward to kiss me as I raised my face to meet hers. Grunting with passion I strained to reach her magnificent breasts with my lips. She placed one hand under her left breast and lifted it towards me. Her nipples were fully erect and she moaned as I flicked my tongue over her protruding teat…..
I live alone. Oh, I’ve got a few girlfriends, and they fuss and worry over me sometimes, and sometimes they arrange dates for me and we go out together, and sometimes I arrange my own dates. But dates are always a problem. I don’t know which gender to ask out. I look like a girl and I dress like a girl, and I live like one, and I work like one, as a kind of secretary-typist-administrative-girl-Friday who doesn’t mind solving her boss’s computer programming problems for him when he’s stuck. And by now I even act like a girl, and swing my hips when I feel real good, and let my hands fly all over when I’m excited, and squeal with my girlfriends when we’re thrilled, and call things “just precious” and “darling” and all that. But I’m not a girl. I’m a man who’s been feminized, by his former wife……
To celebrate my transformation and to increase the effect of my feminization, Mistress Lynn decided a name change was in order.”What’s a good name for a useless, slut French Maid,” she asked herself aloud. “I shall call you Dawn. I think it’s appropriate because you are at the dawn of a new way of life.”Another belt was strapped around my waist. It had a number of
loops. My mistress attached my wrist restraints to the strap……
